


Crossing Paths

by HarrogateBelmont, meansovermotive



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Brighton - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Harry Potter Crossover - Freeform, Humor, Post-Troubled Blood, Rare Books, Romance, birthday gifts, love-life advice, magical objects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarrogateBelmont/pseuds/HarrogateBelmont, https://archiveofourown.org/users/meansovermotive/pseuds/meansovermotive
Summary: Robin is searching for the perfect birthday gift for Strike. A mysterious stranger helps her make her selection.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Hermione Granger, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 36
Kudos: 55





	1. The Bookshop

**Author's Note:**

> We had a wonderful time creating this together, and hope everyone else will enjoy it. You don't necessarily have to be a Harry Potter fan to understand. Special thanks to @mauro, who suggested the idea in comments on a previous fic.

Robin Ellacott looked over the three books sitting on the table in front of her with concentration. She had arrived at Magg’s Bros. Rare Books and Manuscripts thirty minutes earlier, ringing the bell out front, and led in by a young man dressed impeccably in a finely-cut suit.

She had called several days earlier. Strike’s 40th birthday was growing ever closer and Robin was feeling an urge and a bit of pressure, to give her best mate the same wonderful experience that he had provided for her on her 30th. Planning the activity part had not been difficult. When Strike’s sister had called, asking for Robin’s assistance in planning a surprise party, Robin had told her that they had a very demanding case that was going to take them out of London for several days, and then she had informed Strike that he was free to spend the day as he wished.

“Well, why don’t we leave London for a day?” he’d suggested. “I mean, that is, if you’d be interested in spending my birthday with me?” Like so many of their conversations recently, Robin had paid special attention to his choice of words, and his tone. Something had shifted since her 30th birthday, but Robin still was not confident that she could put a word or description to her feelings. What she did know was that she wanted nothing more than to spend Strike’s birthday with him, and had set about planning a day trip to Brighton. 

But she still wanted to buy him a tangible gift, something like the perfume he had given her for her birthday. She had thought about little else in her spare time for days. Nothing seemed quite right, and Robin had never had this level of difficulty making a gift decision in her life. She wanted something personal, but also useful. But not  _ too _ useful. Something he would enjoy, that was connected to their work, their friendship, but not something that would make him feel obligated to use or enjoy. She could always buy him food, but she wanted something more permanent.

When she had walked past Maggs Bros.’ understated building the week before while trailing a client, she had begun to formulate an idea. And now she found herself looking over three valuable, old, and beautiful books, each with a connection to Strike. But purchasing all three was out of the question, and she had been left alone to look through all of them and take her time making her decision.

“I wouldn’t buy that one if I were you.”

Robin looked up from the 1888 first edition of  _ Jack the Giant Killer._ It was a children’s book, vividly and grotesquely illustrated.*  


The woman who had spoken was perhaps a few years older than Robin, with copious amounts of shoulder-length brown hair that framed her intelligent-looking face like a halo.

“Oh?” replied Robin. “What’s wrong with it?”

The woman bit her lip and shook her head. “It’s not very factually accurate, and it perpetuates stereotypes that harm giant welfare.” 

Robin chuckled. The woman was dressed professionally, in a brilliant blue tailored trouser suit that had a rich-looking velvet lapel. 

“Well,” said Robin, opening the book. “I was considering buying this as a gift for my friend Cormoran, and there is somewhat of a resemblance - “ she turned the book to show her new acquaintance. It depicted a big, full-bearded man, dense hair in his bare chest, struggling with what appeared as being stuck in a dense thicket of tree tops. Behind him, a young boy held an axe. The subtitle read ‘The death of the giant Cormoran.’ “But,” she continued, “I don’t think he’d be flattered, and I’m not sure what kind of message it gives him if the picture depicts him being bludgeoned by a young boy.”

Now the woman laughed. “Definitely not a positive one. What kind of message do you  _ want  _ to give him with this gift?”

“I -” Robin paused, not sure how to answer. What did she want to say with this gift?  _ Let’s stop playing around? I care about you more than I’ve cared about anyone in my entire life?  _ She felt her face grow warm, and shrugged. The woman gave her a knowing smile, and was about to speak, when one of the booksellers came into the room, stopping with surprise when he saw the woman.

“Minister Granger!” he said, clapping his hands together in delight. “I didn’t know you would be coming personally. What a pleasant surprise!” Then he frowned and a look of concern passed over his face. “Nothing wrong with Arthur, is there?” 

The woman smiled at him and nodded. “My father-in-law is well, thank you. I just felt like stretching my legs a bit, and I also thought it might be an opportunity to see if I could pick up some Christmas gifts for Ron and the children. They’ll all roll their eyes, but they know to expect at least one book from me.”

Robin watched this exchange with interest. He had called the woman “Minister” but Robin could not place her face. Although she seemed close to Robin’s age in appearance, she was obviously married with children, and something in her demeanor hinted at having already lived a busy, full, and productive life. Silly as it was, given that Robin didn’t actually know anything about this woman, this observation made her feel slightly inadequate, by comparison. 

The bookseller smiled knowingly. “I’m sure they do. Well, the item is just here in the back, if you’d follow me?”

“Certainly,” the woman said, and, with a nod and smile to Robin, she disappeared through the door after the bookseller.

Mentally shaking herself off from thoughts of comparison and inadequacy, Robin again focused on the task at hand, which was already proving daunting. She put aside the book in her hands and turned to her next option, an early edition of Tolstoy’s  _ Anna Karennina _ . She considered it for a moment. That was, in fact, what had given her the idea to gift Strike a book, when he had asked her, a couple of weeks ago, if she’d ever read the novel.

There had been something strange about his expression, and Robin wondered, at the time, if there was something in the book he wished to allude - she knew it was, in a sense, a love story, and that idea intrigued her. Of course, given his general taste for classics, it could just as well be that he really liked the book, which would then make it a good gift.

Nonetheless, that first possibility still lurked in her mind, and given that she hadn’t actually read it, nor did she think she’d be able to, up until his birthday, she decided that it was probably not a safe option until she had.

Sighing, she set the volume down and picked up her last option, a signed first edition of George Hatherill’s  _ A Detective’s Story _ .

All things considered, thought Robin, this was pretty much a pitch perfect choice. She knew how much Cormoran admired the author, former head of CID at Scotland Yard and famous for investigating the Great Train Robbery. His computer password had given that away on her very first day working with him.

The book itself was also a very firm nod to their shared passion, which was something she wished to allude to in her gift. And to have found a signed copy available seemed, frankly, almost too good an opportunity to pass.

Then why, thought Robin, holding the book in her hands, was she feeling hesitant about it?

She stared at the book, lost in thought and consideration, for several minutes, before she was again interrupted from her reverie by the return of the woman, now holding a briefcase. Upon seeing her, she walked decidedly in Robin’s direction.

“Still struggling?” she asked Robin, sympathetically.

Robin sighed.

“I suppose,” she said. “I mean, this one is a pretty perfect choice, actually. I don’t know why I’m still unsure.” She frowned.

The woman studied her for a moment, with a knowing expression.

“You never did answer,” she said, “what message you’re intending to convey with it? Because there’s clearly a message you’re debating on.” 

Robin startled, surprised that the woman would remember and bring up their previous exchange. She considered her answer for a moment.

“Well,” she said, “he gave me a really thoughtful gift for my birthday last month. I suppose I want to let him know how much I appreciate it and that… that I made an effort to return it at least in equal measure.”

The woman eyed her suspiciously, her lips pursed. “If you ask me, there’s no more intimate gift than a carefully chosen book.”

At the word  _ intimate, _ Robin felt her face grow warm. “Oh,” she said. “We’re not - I mean…” Robin struggled for the words.

“Let me guess,” the woman said. “It’s complicated?”

Robin grimaced.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I guess it is.”

The woman nodded knowingly.

“Yes, I see. Well, that’s a tricky situation. I certainly would know.” She paused for a moment. “By the way,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Hermione Granger-Weasley.”

“Nice to meet you,” Robin said, taking it. “I’m--”

“Robin Ellacott,” Hermione said, smiling, and Robin startled. “Recognized you from the papers,” she explained. 

“Oh,” said Robin, blushing slightly. She paused, unsure what to say next. “Sorry,” she added, smiling. “I’m not quite used to being recognized.”

“I follow the papers closely. Job requirement.”

“What are you minister of?” Robin asked.

“Oh!” Hermione looked a bit flustered. “That’s just a joke. My family and friends call me that. They think I’m a bit bossy. Quite sexist, actually.” 

Robin rolled her eyes in agreement. “I know how that goes,” she said. She was about to ask what her line of work was, but Hermione spoke first.

“Quite an astonishing job you did on that cold case.” Hermione said. “Must have been a lot of work. Exhausting.” Despite her professional clothing and her bookish demeanor, she seemed genuinely interested. 

“Well, it wasn’t easy, to be honest,” said Robin, filling with a bit of pride. 

“I can imagine,” said Hermione. “My husband did work like that for several years, but he decided not to stick with it.”

“Oh, really?” Robin said, surprised. She was curious about the idea of someone giving up a career in investigation, which to her sounded unthinkable. “What does he do now?” asked Robin. 

“Runs a joke shop with his brother,” said Hermione, and they both laughed. 

Robin looked closely at Hermione. She seemed so polished and there was a seriousness in her manner. Robin tried to imagine what her husband must be like - a former law enforcement professional who now ran a joke shop - and could not form any image that made sense. Not sure what to ask next, she said, simply, “That sounds like fun.” 

“Mmmm,” said Hermione. “Can be. Except when he tries to use our children as guinea pigs to test new products. We’ve had some messes, to be sure. What?”

Hermione had noticed Robin scrutinizing her, and Robin felt slightly embarrassed.

“Sorry - it’s part of what I do - try to make sense of people. My partner calls it my ‘Sherlock face’ - I’m meant to be trying to conceal it more, but you’re more perceptive than most people.” She tried to change the subject. “How many kids do you have?”

“Two, a boy and a girl.”

“Oh, lovely,” said Robin, although in truth she found she had little enthusiasm for the subject. She was more curious about Hermione’s husband, who, from what little she had learned, sounded unlike her in every way. In averting her gaze from Hermione’s, her eyes returned to the book in her hands.

She could however still feel Hermione’s studious gaze upon her, and felt a little uneasy. It reminded her a little of when Ilsa tried to extricate, apparently with the force of sheer will, information from her about her situation with Cormoran.

“You know,” she finally said, and Robin looked up. “My husband and I… we had a sort of a rocky start.”

“Oh, really?” said Robin, not sure what else to say. Apparently, she thought, Hermione was better at Ilsa’s game than the lawyer herself.

“Absolutely” Hermione continued, biting her lip. “You see, we were quite the stubborn kids, frankly.”

Robin raised her eyebrows.

“Kids?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, smiling. “We have known each other since childhood.”

Robin smiled, too. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”

“True,” said Hermione, tilting her head. “But that, perhaps, was precisely the problem. See, we were best friends for a long time before we were able to sort things out. Some boundaries… seemed impossible to cross.”

Robin swallowed.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I think I can relate.” She paused, tapping her fingers in the book cover. “What ultimately changed things, then?”

“Oh, I ended up throwing myself at him.”

Robin snorted. “Seems quite dramatic.”

“Yes, well, there were dramatic circumstances, to be honest,” said Hermione, grinning, before making a thoughtful pause. “But that’s not really your style, is it?”

Robin shook her head. “Not really, I think.”

Hermione nodded.

“Hence… the book.”

Robin chuckled. “It seems you understand my predicament.”

“Quite,” responded Hermione, frowning, before falling in a thoughtful silence, so that there was a brief lull in the conversation for a few moments. 

Feeling a bit tired of her own problem herself, Robin nodded towards the woman’s briefcase. “Have you found something good?” 

Hermione seemed to snap up from her reflective state.

“Actually, I might have,” she said after a brief pause, in which she seemed to make a decision. She heaved her briefcase onto the corner of the table, and snapped the clasps open. She leaned in conspiratorially to Robin. “My family collects rare and unique books of the most diverse types. The staff at Maggs are always on the lookout for us.” The woman pulled the book out of the briefcase, closed the lid, and set the rather battered-looking volume on top. There was nothing written on its burgundy dust jacket.

Hermione looked at the book for a moment, her hand on top of the volume, before turning to Robin with a smile.

“So, given your predicament…why don’t you tell me?” She seemed to have twinkle in her eyes that made Robin a little apprehensive.

She turned her gaze again to the book lying atop the briefcase. It looked less tattered than it had when Robin had first noticed it. Old, yes, but not as worn. Without thinking, she reached out for it.

Robin took the volume in her hands with care. Removing the dust jacket, she stared at the book cover and suddenly fell silent.

After a moment, swallowing hard to suppress the quite inexplicable surge of emotion that was threatening to escape in the form of tears, she said, in a low voice, “Oh God. I used to love this book when I was a kid.”

Taking a peak at the title, Hermione smiled.

“I can imagine, indeed.”

Robin turned to her, still astonished.

“How did you--?”

“Well,” Hermione said. “From what I knew about you, and after you told me your problem… I thought it might help.”

Robin returned her gaze to the book.

“It does,” she said, absently. “I think… I think it’s perfect.” She turned again at Hermione. “I can’t believe in this coincidence. What are the odds that you would buy this exact book today, and that I would run into you here?”

Hermione pursed her lips, apparently in an effort to suppress a smile.

“The odds… would be very low, indeed.” She then smiled in earnest. “If I were less of a skeptic, I just might say that it seems the universe has some pointers for you, Robin.”

Robin laughed.

“I just can’t tell Cormoran  _ that _ .” Hermione raised one eyebrow, and Robin explained. “Not a big fan of universe signs, him. Quite a logical man.”

“Well, it seems he and I could get along.”

Robin studied Hermione for a moment.

“You know, I think you might, indeed,” she said thoughtfully. Then she added, frowning, “I wonder if they have another copy of this book available.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, regretfully. “You see - unfortunately, this one has already been promised, otherwise I would let you keep it.”

“Oh, not at all,” said Robin, waving her hand. “I’m sure I can find one. It also doesn’t have to be such a rare copy, too – I see this is a first edition.”

Hermione smiled. “I’ll tell you what - I’ll make sure  Mr. Harold finds you a copy, even if he has to search all of London.” She turned to find the man, but Robin put one hand on her arm to stop her.

“Wait, Hermione, I just--,” she started. “I wanted to thank you, honestly. Really, it was so, so kind of you to help me.” She felt her voice tremble a bit as she spoke.

Hermione’s smile was just as sincere.

“Not at all,” she said. “Like I said, I can understand… and, I do not recommend that situation, to be quite frank.” She then paused for a moment, and Robin felt the woman’s scrutinizing gaze upon her, again. “Just promise me one thing,” she said.

“What?” said Robin, apprehensively.

“If the book gambit doesn’t work,” she said, “just talk. I can assure you, it’s not as hard as it seems.” Despite the trivial nature of her words, her tone was quite serious.

“Yeah, I think you’ve convinced me,” Robin said. “Deal.”

They smiled at each other, and Hermione knocked on Mr. Howard’s door to ask about the book.

Robin left the bookstore with a copy of it not fifteen minutes later, feeling such a sense of lightness and hope that it did not even occur to her to ask for Hermione’s contact information.

***

*Illustration from the book _Jack the Giant Killer_


	2. Brighton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike visit Brighton for the day, and Robin gives Strike his birthday present.

The late autumn air was crisp, and the bright unseasonable sunshine made Robin feel quite comfortable as she and Strike strolled along the Brighton promenade, talking and occasionally stopping to stare out towards the sea. They had risen early, and arrived shortly after ten am, enjoying a hearty breakfast before deciding to stretch their legs outdoors. Despite the fine weather, the promenade was quiet, and they saw few people as they walked. 

Robin’s gift was tucked away in her bag, and as they walked and joked, she thought about Hermione’s advice. She had resolved to reveal all today. If Strike didn’t understand the meaning behind the gift, then she had several versions of a speech worked out. She had also tried, not-so-successfully, to rehearse what disappointment might feel like, and to envision a tense ride back to London should things not work out the way she had hoped. It wasn’t pleasant, but it had helped to calm her nerves to envision all scenarios in advance.

Eventually, they reached a bench with an unobstructed view of the water. Robin stopped. “Would you like to sit for a bit?” she asked. Strike chuckled.

“Are you asking me because of the view, or because you’re worried that I’m too old to go on without a rest?”

Robin punched him playfully on the arm. “The view! Forty is the new thirty. You’re not that old.”

They sat down, and a few seagulls landed near them, realized they were empty-handed, and flew away.

“I looked it up,” said Robin. “You’re the same age as Leonardo DiCaprio and Christian Bale. They’re still considered leading men.” 

“I’ve seen pictures of DiCaprio in the press,” said Strike. “I don’t know that he’s holding up so well.”

Robin shrugged. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” she said. “Anyway, I want to give you your present.”

“Isn’t this trip my present?” asked Strike. He had stretched out his legs, and one arm was stretched across the edge of the bench, behind her back but not really around her. Robin felt a thrill, as she had so many times in recent weeks, any time she was in close proximity to Strike. As though at any moment, the slightest movement would cause them both to topple off of the cliff where they were both so precariously perched.

“Well, yes,” said Robin. “But you didn’t think I’d leave it at that, did you?” She pulled the book, beautifully wrapped with an enormous bow, out of her bag. “I don’t want you to be disappointed,” she continued. “It’s not a balloon.”

Strike laughed, and reached out and took the gift from her. “It looks too posh to open,” he said, gingerly untying the bow. Once it was loose, he pulled it off with a flourish and handed it to Robin, who tied it loosely to the handle of her bag. Strike began to slowly untape the paper, and Robin, who was nervous and excited, said, “You look like you’re trying not to destroy evidence.”

“It’s pretty paper,” said Strike, grinning. It  _ was  _ nice paper, thought Robin. Gold and scarlet swirls, shiny, and thick. 

Pulling off the paper, Strike also handed that to Robin, who folded it neatly, not sure why she was keeping it but feeling like it was too lush to throw away. Strike looked down at the book, which was covered with a slightly worn dust-jacket. The image on the front featured a man and woman in 1920s-era clothing, dancing, while a red-ribbon descending from the title swirled around them.*

Robin felt her heart pounding as Strike ran his hand over the cover. “ _ Partners in Crime,”  _ he said, quietly. She felt a moment of panic. Maybe this was too forward, after all. Perhaps she had been imagining the electricity between them. Robin searched her mind to try to remember the speech that would allow her to exit gracefully from the intended purpose of the gift, to laugh it off, and make it seem like a fun thing that a platonic friend would give another.   


“I used to love this book as a kid,” he said. “I’d forgotten. Ted and Joan had a whole Christie collection.” 

Robin let out a breath that she didn’t know she had been holding. “I read it as well,” she said. “Think a lot of the parodies went over my head, but it didn’t matter. I loved the stories.”

Strike was now thumbing through the book, looking at the chapter index, and flipping to different sections. Robin continued. “It’s an American early edition. Not in perfect condition, and the dust jacket is actually a facsimile. But I thought - “

“It’s perfect,” said Strike. He laughed. “I’m surprised no one has made a Tommy and Tuppence joke at our expense yet.”

Robin smiled. “Well, we’re not - they’re married in the book, aren’t they?” 

“Yeah, they are,” said Strike. Something seemed to occur to him. “They’re a couple, but they manage to work together well, don’t they?” He closed the book and looked out towards the sea. Then he inhaled so deeply that Robin could see his chest rise and fall. He turned to her.

“The thing is, I love being your partner in crime,” Strike said. He put the book on the bench between them, and reached out to cover his hand with hers. “I wouldn’t want to run the business with anyone else and I don’t want to - I don’t want to  _ be  _ with anyone else.”

Robin felt as if she were falling. There was only the sea, and the fresh, salty air, and Strike, gazing at her with a look so intense that she felt it might burn right through her. 

Unable to speak, Robin leaned forward and kissed him. In the back of her mind, she remembered Hermione’s words, and it amused her that throwing herself at Strike ended up being her style after all. But then, Strike wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, deepening the kiss, and all thought of anything else evaporated from her mind. 

“Partners in crime,” Strike said after they parted, his eyes still closed, and a smile on his lips. He raised his head to look at her. “How did you think of this, anyway?”

“Oh,” said Robin, reaching up to stroke the back of his neck. “Story for another day.”

***

* Book cover for _Partners in Crime_ by Agatha Christie.


	3. The Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week after their trip to Brighton, and Robin receives a gift in the mail from Hermione.

_ One week later _

“Where’s Pat?” asked Strike, emerging from the office, where he had been sequestered on the phone with a client for the last hour. 

“Lunch,” said Robin, who had returned from a morning surveillance assignment only a few minutes earlier. “She’ll bring back some sandwiches.”

Robin was looking at the mail that she had picked up on her way up the stairs. Aside from some bills, there was a small, square package, addressed to her. She felt a moment of trepidation, remembering the leg that had been delivered to her several years earlier, and hesitated for a moment before opening it.

“So we’ve got, what? At least thirty minutes, before - ” Strike had crossed the room towards her, preparing to envelop her in a hug, when he saw the look on her face. “What is it?” he asked.

“Mysterious package addressed to me,” said Robin. “No other markings or return address.” She handed it to Strike. “Will you open it?”

Strike took the package from her. “Not very heavy, is it?” he said, and reached for the scissors on Pat’s desk in order to slice through the tape. He pried open the flaps and lifted a piece of soft cotton from the top. Underneath was an envelope, also addressed to Robin, and a round, glass-covered object. Strike left the object inside the package and handed the envelope to Robin.

“Not a body part,” he joked, and Robin gave a weak smile. Strike draped an arm over her shoulder as she opened the envelope, her fingers trembling slightly. But when she saw the note, she felt a smile break out on her face.

_ Dear Robin, _

_ I hope you are doing well, and that your gift was a success. I enjoyed meeting you the other day. You seemed interested in my husband’s business, and I thought that you and your partner might enjoy one of his toys. They call this a “Sneakoscope.” It is supposed to spin and whistle if someone untrustworthy or deceptive activities are nearby. It’s all bollocks, of course, but it’s pretty to look at, and seemed like a useful tool for a detective agency! _

_ I wish you and your partner all the success on your venture. I think it’s an immensely important work that you do, and I really appreciate it. _

_ Perhaps our paths will cross again some day. _

_ Regards, _ _   
_ _ H G-W _

“Who’s H G-W?” asked Strike, after Robin handed him her note. 

“An acquaintance. Met her at the book shop when I was buying your birthday present. She helped me to pick it out.”

“Well, then,” said Strike, nuzzling her neck. “We are forever indebted to her, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” said Robin, leaning her head to the side to allow for better access, as a warmth spread throughout her body. Still, she pulled the toy out of the box, and looked at it. It looked a bit like an ice-cream cone with a pointed, silver bottom, and a glass dome on top. There was some sort of bulb or marble inside the dome. Robin tried to spin it, but it was oddly top-heavy and just flopped onto the desk. 

“Make a nice paperweight,” said Strike, leaning forward and kissing Robin on the lips this time. “How much mischief do you think we can get up to in the next twenty-three minutes?”

Robin laughed. “I thought we agreed we weren’t to do this in the office,” she protested weakly. 

“I think we need to reconsider that rule,” said Strike, running his hands down her back. They enjoyed several more minutes together, before they simultaneously heard the door below open and close, and a high-pitched whining noise coming from the Sneakoscope on the table. They jumped apart, and stared at it.

“Someone untrustworthy must be climbing the stairs,” said Strike. “Maybe Pat’s gone and bought you a sandwich with onions on it.” 

The Sneakoscope’s whistle grew louder as the footsteps grew nearer. The marble inside the dome began to shine, and to both Strike’s and Robin’s surprise, it righted itself and began to spin across the desk. Robin managed to grab it before it crashed to the floor, just as the door to the office opened. Robin held the vibrating object behind her back. 

“Hello, Stick,” said the light-haired woman in the doorway. “Was just in town for a few things and thought I’d pop in and drop off your birthday present. Do you fancy a lunch date with your sister? How are you, Robin?”

Strike and Robin stared at each other for a moment. Robin shook her head, and reached for the box in which the Sneakoscope had been delivered, turning slightly so that Lucy would not see what she was packing. Strike strode over to give his sister a peck on the cheek. 

“Er, yeah,” said Strike. “Pat’s just gone out to get us sandwiches, but I could save mine for later. Robin - do you want to join us?” He turned to her. They had not told anyone about the new development in their relationship, but Robin suspected that Strike would not be able to hide the truth during his sister’s lunchtime inquisition. She didn’t mind, really. 

“Oh, please do!” said Lucy, brightening. 

Robin nodded. “Why don’t I meet you in just a few minutes. I just got in and have a few things to put away from this morning. I’ll text Pat and let her know we’ll be out. Tottenham?” 

Strike nodded, and he grabbed his overcoat and he and Lucy left together. The Sneakoscope was still vibrating and shining in its box, and as she heard Strike and Lucy descend the stairs, the device slowly stopped its gyrations.

Robin considered it for a moment, thinking that if it lit up every time they were about to be caught snogging in the office, it might indeed prove quite an useful paperweight. Chuckling to herself, she entered her office and put the box in one of the locked file cabinets. But she left Hermione’s letter out, and placed it on her desk. She would cherish that, and was forever grateful for their brief friendship. Turning the envelope over, she noticed there wasn’t a return address, and made a mental note to look her up online later. It certainly shouldn’t be hard to find her, and Robin wanted to retribute the gift in some way - but that was not all, she knew. If she was honest, she also hoped they would meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all thought it would be Barclay, didn't you? We hope you enjoyed reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it!

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you enjoyed Robin and Hermione's conversation. We do think they would be great friends.


End file.
